


backsplash

by lobotomycastiel



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Canon-Typical Homophobia, Domesticity, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: It may have come approximately 60 years too late, but Steve Rogers has finally done it. He’s lived up to his duty as a man to provide for a family.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	backsplash

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ults Day! As you guys know, I'm incapable of writing angst, so instead I wrote... whatever the hell this is. My first foray into writing anything for Ults. Set in the mid-2000s, when Massachusetts was the only state to have legalized gay marriage for residents.

It may have come approximately 60 years too late, but Steve Rogers has finally done it. He’s lived up to his duty as a man to provide for a family. He’s got everything he needs: a white picket fence enclosing a manicured lawn, a big house in the suburbs, a dog, and a loving soon-to-be spouse. 

Of course, the house in the suburbs comes with nosy neighbors, the picket fence is half-falling down and needs to be replaced, the dog is a yappy Pomeranian, and his spouse is a goddamn queer. But then again, so is Steve, so how’s that for coincidences. 

They’re not even in New York. They’re in  _ Cambridge _ of all places. A college town for the neurotic and sheltered children of the generationally wealthy. He should hate it, and yet… 

“Can you get me the drill?” Tony asks him as he mends their fence. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white tank-top that’s soaked with sweat; his biceps are bulging. It’s the most casual thing Steve has ever seen him in, and he looks  _ sinful _ . Steve wants to yell at him to go inside, to cover up and not be so indecent, what if someone we know sees you, but he also wants Tony to take the top off and show Steve his toned abs. 

“Sure,” he says, handing his boyf-  _ fiance _ \- their neon pink electric drill. Jan had gotten it for them, her version of an early wedding present. They don’t even have a registry yet. Steve thinks it looks ridiculous. He’s already having sex out of wedlock with another man; he doesn’t need to act any gayer, but Tony loves it, so they kept it. 

Tony bends down, making his jeans ride down enticingly low, and finishes screwing in their new fence gate. “Well, that’s all I’m up for today. It’ll be too hot to do anything productive in about… half an hour. I’m going to shower, and then I’m going to lounge around in bed while you fix us something to eat.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. Tony may be the woman in their relationship when it comes to having sex, but he’s anything but a docile housewife. It’s what he appreciates about their dynamic. He follows Tony inside their two-story colonial. Apparently they’d bought it at a steal, though Steve doesn’t know if he’d consider $400,000 a steal. 

The place still needs a lot of work; the wallpaper needs to be replaced, the kitchen backsplash is  _ terrible _ —it’s from the 1970s and is the tackiest thing Steve’s seen in his entire life (and he lives with  _ Tony Stark _ )—their fireplace is absolutely not up-to-code, but… it’s theirs. It’s theirs, and he loves it more than he should. 

Technically, they only have to stay here for a year to establish residency. Then they can get married, sell the damn thing, and go back to New York. But a part of him doesn’t want to. 

He kind of likes the suburbs. The quiet. The hipster coffee shops that are a five minute drive away. Even their neighbors are growing on him. Most of them, anyways. 

“Hello, gentlemen!” calls an exaggerated highbrow accent from over the fence. Speak of the Devil…

“Brenda, Louis, so nice to see you again,” Steve lies as he walks back outside to greet them. The only bad part about living in the suburbs is the Homeowner’s Association, of which Brenda is the president. She’s been trying to get friendly with them ever since Steve brought his chocolate Bundt cake to the neighborhood Christmas party. Louis is her husband, and he works in “marketing analysis consultations,” whatever the hell that means. 

He honestly didn’t set out to hate his neighbors, but after that disaster of the Christmas party, he thinks he has a good reason. 

* * *

_ “I just want to  _ personally  _ welcome you to our little community,” Brenda had purred, gently nursing her sparkling wine and leaning into Steve’s space. Tony had insisted on coming here, going on and on about meeting who they’ll be living with for a year and “blending in”. He’d even nagged Steve into doing a little baking for the get-together, so he’d made his chocolate cherry Bundt cake, the one with instant pudding mix inside the batter to make it impossibly delicate and light.  _

_ Ha, what a load of good that had done him. He’d been accosted for his “recipe,” among  _ other  _ things, by the president of the Homeowner’s Association. If he told her to fuck off, he’d be socially doomed. At least, that’s what Tony had said, and Tony cares about those things, so Steve has to care about them too.  _

_ They’d run out of polite conversation topics about half an hour ago, while making the rounds and greeting everyone. Steve’s exhausted; he wants to go home, take off these uncomfortable shoes, and sleep in the same bed as his fiance. But Tony’s being his usual impossible, infuriatingly charming self with a group of women and their husbands, so at the punch bowl entertaining Brenda he remains. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up the front of being interested in what she has to say.  _

_ “You know, Steven, I like you. I really do! I think you’re an upstanding young man, and I’m so happy you moved here. But… I do wonder about that housemate of yours. I know you probably know he’s quite famous.” Jesus. Here we go, what’s Tony blown up  _ this  _ time. Who does he need to apologize to and promise to offer help with cleaning up the inevitable mess. Brenda, oblivious to his internal frustration, continues.  _

_ “It’s just. Well, he’s a bit of a queer, isn’t he? And I would  _ hate  _ to overstep, but I need to know - is he hurting you, in any way? You can tell me, it’s okay. My husband knows some groups that can help you, through our church.”  _ Oh.  _ He’d have preferred news about an explosion.  _

_ “We’re not _ — _ He’s not _ — _ I’m _ — _ ” He stutters, and not for the first time, he wishes he had Tony’s gift of righteous anger and sharp words. Something,  _ anything _ , to make Brenda fuck off back to her husband. _

_ “And it’s not that there’s anything  _ wrong _ with that choice! I mean, hell, the state just legalized their marriages a few years ago, can you believe it? But he’s really not doing any of that, you know,  _ stuff _ , to you?” _

_ “I mean, I’m usually the one doing  _ stuff _ to him,” he says before he can stop himself. He also wishes he had Tony’s gift of shutting up at strategic times and letting someone incriminate themselves.  _

_ Brenda gives a scandalized gasp, and then hastily backs away from him, like he’s diseased. “Well… well, uh, I guess I should get back to making sure that- that all of our community members feel welcomed.” _

_ He sees Brenda walk up to her husband, whisper something in his ear, and point directly at Steve. Louis’ eyes go wide; he takes Brenda’s arm, leads her out of the neighborhood lodge, and into the parking lot.  _

__

_ Steve feels it in his bones that he’s just made life for him and his fiance a living hell.  _

* * *

The disgust he feels for these two must show on his face, because they both back away nervously. “So. Busy weekend. Your housemate finally bringing your fence up to HOA standards?” And so begins the existential nightmare that is Brenda attempting to talk to him. 

“Yep.” He’s not interested in maintaining a conversation with these people. He wants to see Tony fresh out of the shower, dripping wet and naked for Steve to enjoy. 

Louis chuckles anxiously, backing away slightly from the fence. “Well, we have to run. You have to get Fourth of July decorations, don’t you, Bren?”

“Mmhmm, yes. Goodbye, Steven! Tell Anthony I said hi!” They rush away from Steve’s backyard, leaving him to enjoy his peace and quiet again. It may have been months since what happened at Christmas, but he’s still mad about it, what about that don’t they get? Why do they keep trying to  _ speak  _ to him? Walking back inside, he hears the pipes upstairs turn off, which means Tony’s out of the shower. Shit, he needs to make food. 

Tony thought that since they’d moved to a new place, they needed to ‘assimilate’ and learn the local culture. Which is why there’s an abundance of seafood in the fridge, but absolutely nothing easy to prepare. Goddamn him for picking a fiance with expensive and laborious tastes. Why couldn’t Tony like something normal, like soup? 

He supposes a plate of fruit with some crackers and cheese will have to do. As soon as he grabs the block of aged cheddar out from its place in the fridge, their dog, Freddie, starts yipping. The dog is technically both of theirs to co-parent, but he absolutely takes after Tony, the way he lounges around all day and plays cute and innocent until he wants something, namely, cheese and playtime. He feeds the tiny thing a sliver of cheddar and tosses one of Freddie’s squeaky toys from the kitchen to the living room. That should keep him busy. 

Arranging the food “artfully” on a plate like he’d seen another one of their neighbors, Lorelai, do at their community’s Easter fundraiser, he starts to bring it up the stairs to Tony, and then remembers something very important. Grabbing two wine glasses and a bottle of red, he returns to the stairs, balancing their midday snack carefully. 

He can hear Tony embroiled in a shouting match on the phone before he comes in. Opening the door to their bedroom, he walks in carefully so as to not disturb the man and sets the food and wine down on the end table. 

“--No,  _ you  _ deal with it. I didn’t realize that all your agents were so massively incompetent-- oh, Steve, there you are-- no, go fuck yourself, Nick; we’re  _ busy _ .” Tony hangs up cheerfully, a triumphant clatter echoing as his phone snaps closed. His hair is still wet, but he’s put on one of his robes and is pacing around the room.

“Was that important?” He can feel his face doing his ‘I disapprove’ look as Tony calls it. 

“Nope. Now feed me.” Tony lies down on their bed, and looks at Steve expectantly. “Well? Snap to it; imagine I’m Caligula, and you’re the beautiful servant boy.”

“Caligula was a terrible emperor; he was an insane sex pervert and killed a lot of people,” he argues, even as he obliges and feeds Tony a grape and then a slice of apple and then a sip of their wine. 

“Mmm, and you don’t think that sounds familiar?” Tony grabs the glass of wine from him and downs the entire thing before holding it out again. “Fill me up, babe.” 

“You’re not insane, you haven’t killed  _ that _ many people, at least directly, and we’re only sex perverts in our own home.” Steve refills the wine and puts their plate of food in front of them as he sits on the bed beside Tony. 

Tony chokes on his second glass, dribbling slightly. It should be disgusting, but Steve, in his own self-aware sex perversion, finds it mildly erotic. “Oh my God, don’t make me laugh, you  _ ass _ , I could have died!” 

“Don’t die, I need you to pay the mortgage on this place,” he says, tone dry as a desert. 

“Gold-digger. You’re lucky you’re pretty.” Well now Tony’s just  _ asking _ for it. He pulls him close and gives him a rough kiss. Tony’s beard scrapes pleasantly against his bare face, and he can feel the other man smiling against his mouth. 

“Tomorrow we need to go get real groceries and plants for the garden. I can’t cook with just organic, locally-farmed seafood, Tony, and I’m not paying five dollars a pound for tomatoes.” He pulls away and helps himself to a few pieces of cheese and crackers. When Tony isn’t looking, he steals some of his grapes as well. 

Tony sighs, snuggling up to Steve’s chest and yawning. “Mmm, okay, take the car.” And that’s all Steve gets in terms of conversation and affection before Tony’s asleep against him. Unbelievable, two glasses of wine and some food and he’s asleep at 3 PM.

Steve extricates himself from underneath Tony, cleans up their food and drinks, and grabs his phone to make a call to a contractor that Brienne from his Checkers club recommended to him. 

  
They really  _ do _ need to do something about that hideous kitchen backsplash. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are lifeblood :D
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as [@theotherwasdeath](https://theotherwasdeath.tumblr.com/)!


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